


Winter

by citadelsushi



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3, Other, Shepard's incarceration, post-Arrival, shega
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 22:37:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13491243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citadelsushi/pseuds/citadelsushi





	Winter

Winter is a frigid bitch.

Experiencing it now, James can’t imagine how he ever romanticized the season. 

Winter isn’t just cold, it is glacial. It is bleak. It is dark. 

There’s something incredibly unforgiving about winter. About how snow falls, quiet and constant, like a blanket over the entire city. A heavy, white blanket that shuts down all activity, forces people to stay hidden in the safety of their own homes, wait out the storm until spring tells them it’s safe to move again.

Every once in a while, the clouds do part and the sun graces him with its presence, bringing with it hope that winter might soon end. But mother nature is a cruel mistress, and with the sun comes colder temperatures, crushing all hope with their arrival. Temperatures that bite at every bit of flesh you’re stupid enough to leave exposed, that make it impossible to take deep breaths for fear for filling your lungs with ice. The kind of temperatures that, when you make it back into the warmth, leaves your skin burning, makes it impossible to forget the climate from which you have finally found refuge.

Winter is a powerful force; the brunt of which, James has no choice but to endure.

He’s reminded of this fact for the tenth time that day as he steps into the one bedroom apartment masquerading as a prison cell for Commander Shepard, the voice of the soldier he’s relieving still fresh in his mind.  _ Good luck tonight. _

It’s as dark inside as it is outside, and he knows better by now than to turn on a light. So he kicks off his boots, shrugs off his jacket, and lets muscle memory and limited vision guide the way to the sitting area. 

He spots her as soon as he turns the corner. She’s seated on the couch, and even masked in darkness, he can tell she’s curled up, her knees jutting out to the side and her feet tucked beneath her thighs, her face underlit by the soft orange glow of her datapad. Jagged red lines give definition to her face otherwise hidden by shadows, and he can’t help but notice that they seem less severe than in previous weeks.

She doesn’t look up.

He steels himself, makes his way to the recliner to her right, dares to turn on the tableside lamp and greets her with a casual, “Hey, Shepard.”

“Fuck off.”

Speaking of frigid bitches. 

James turns and notices the bottle of liquor tucked in the crook of her knees he hadn’t been able to see in the dark. “Where did you get that?”

Shepard doesn’t turn her head, only lifts her eyes to shoot him a sideways glance, red neon glowing hazy behind blue irises. Just as slowly and just as deliberately, she brings the bottle to her lips and takes a long, slow sip, her eyes locked on his. Daring him to try to stop her. 

James can’t stop his eyes from rolling, his chest from heaving with a heavy sigh. “That your only bottle?”

Shepard lowered the bottle from her lips, placed it back in the protective cranny of her legs. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His temper flared. “Yes, Commander, I would. On Admiral Anderson’s orders, you’re not to-”

“Fuck’s sake, Vega, cut me some slack. I’m losing my fucking mind over here.”

James paused. She had turned to face him. She had used his name for the first time since their introduction. She offered some reasoning for her actions. A break in the clouds. 

For several breaths, James didn't move. Through near darkness and thick tension, the two studied each other, neither backing down. He had gotten this far before, at least once or twice in the few months he had been assigned to her guard, and each time he had made the mistake of speaking too soon, of pushing against an immovable object. And each time he had been met with greater confrontation or, worse yet, complete shut out. So he waited. 

And after what seemed like an eternity later, Shepard broke the silence, her eyes still glowing, still boring into him like a laser into a mine. “Anderson doesn’t give a shit. Trust me.”

James couldn’t help a half hearted chortle, born more from exhaustion than amusement. “In that case, can I have a pull?”

He sighed, his gaze falling to where his feet lied stretched out before him, bringing his hands to rest on his chest, clasped at the fingers. That pessimistic sentiment was the most genuine thing he had yet to hear come from Shepard’s lips.

“Hey.” Shepard’s sharp tone cut through unfocused thoughts and James turned to look at her to find her arm outstretched, bottleneck in hand. “You want one or not?”

James eyed the bottle, looked to Shepard’s face, to the bottle, and back to Shepard. Her face gave nothing away, save for the slight rise in thick eyebrows, an offer he was expected to accept. An offer that might gain her favor, even if it meant hurting his career, costing him the only position of worth he had ever known.

He leaned forward, took the bottle from her hand, read over the label. “I’ve never been one to pass up a decent tequila.”

Sealing his fate, James grasped the bottle by the neck and took a long, deep swig. The alcohol burned all the way down to his belly, filling him with a warmth he hadn’t felt since starting his new post. When he brought the bottle down from his lips, he found Shepard’s gaze still locked on him, a coy yet satisfied grin pulling at one corner of her lips. 

That sight alone was enough to set him afire.

  
  
  



End file.
